What Makes TomVoldemort Tick?
by Insanetedyz
Summary: It's set up like a tv show for zombies. Mrs. Riddle and other later on will be interviewed to crack the mystery about why Tom, out of all the other psycos, was so darn good at being bad.


Walking out with a microphone, the hostess of this show takes her seat in a plush red chair. After adjusting her mustard colored pants so that the zipper on some pocket isn't stabbing her, she impatiently looks at a large screen set in the middle of the room.

"You know, these chairs are REALLY uncomfortable; I don't know how other people can stand it…" A faint noise is heard somewhere off stage, the hostess puts a hand over her earpiece.

"What? We're on now? Damn it! I mean, um…. Oh fuck it…" After straightening out her shirt she casts a smile to the audience that is the viewers at home, crooked teeth becoming very visible.

"Hello everyone! Today we're going to have a very special guest with us, but that doesn't make it seem any good since people always say that, but then again, you're all brain washed so you don't care!" She indulges in a bout of evil laughter before calming down. The curtains that separate the stage from backstage shifts slightly. Again the hostess puts her hand on her earpiece.

"No, not yet!" she whispers. Again she goes back to smiling at the home viewers, "I would mention my name, but I don't want anyone sending the police over since I'm plotting world domination. Now then, to business: Our guest tonight, or today depending on where you are, is Mrs. Riddle! She's being brought out here from the realm of the dead to cast her insight on just what makes Tom such a successful evil doer." You can just barely hear a backstage worker shouting out, "Yeah, so you can take notes!" The hostess takes out something topped with a button, presses it, and a few moments after a scream is heard there's a 'thud'. Some people complain about the smell of burning flesh.

"Shut it! Ahem," she attempts to look calmer and continue with her job, "Now that that's taken care of, Mrs. Riddle, care to come out?" A ghost floats out from backstage. Even though she's dead, she doesn't look half bad. She takes her seat in an identical red chair across from the hostess.

"You're right, these things ARE uncomfortable…" She spends a few moments shifting, the whole time the hostess rudely taps her foot on the ground. After Mrs. Riddle settles in the hostess murmurs an audible 'Finally..!'. Mrs. Riddle frowns slightly, but still says in a polite voice, "Hello, I was brought here to talk about something; but I definitely don't know what even though I was actually told and given time to prepare my answer, so to make it look real I'll stutter a whole lot."

"There's no need for that," assures the hostess, "These people are all brainwashed, they won't know the difference. Plus, I don't want to copy Jerry Springer."

"Jerry who?"

"Uh, never mind… So! What were your second thoughts after hearing about what your son has done to the world? Well, England, but still!" To build up an annoying sense of suspense Mrs. Riddle pauses before replying, "I suppose it's not too surprising, actually…"

"What! Explain yourself!" By now the hostess has jumped on top of the back of her chair and is latching onto it like some kind of kitty creature. Completely ignoring it Mrs. Riddle proceeds to explain, while the hostess takes notes in the hopes of getting some type of tip.

"Well, after dying my sole didn't leave right away. I wanted to make sure that little Tom was going to be okay. He seemed fine at first, until he went to Hogwarts. He enjoyed using spells and all, but other Slytherins made fun of the fact that he's half blood. Besides, the people at the orphanage weren't kind either… The other kids always called him a bookworm and the lady who ran it tried to hard. I suppose poor Tom felt like he was under too much pressure."

"So he went to the dark side then?"

"No, not yet. He started absorbing himself in his studies more than anyone else. He tried his best at everything and then some. His hard work and ambition coupled with his creativity and hatred of anything that moves made a very bad chemistry."

"I see…" she continues to jot things down, but has to stop when she finally looses her balance and crashes to the floor. Mrs. Riddle doesn't bother asking if she's alright because apparently the insane don't feel anything (do to!).

"Ouch…" The hostess lifted herself up and into the seat. She clears her throat before saying, "How about we make things awkward by bringing out Tom, who, by the way, was able to hear all that you said and now will probably be upset that you dissected his mind and have been stalking him for a while." The hostess smiles as Mrs. Riddle stares at her for a few moments, then looks over to where Tom is supposed to come out.

After a few minutes have passed, the hostess starts to loose it (if she had it).

"Where is he! Tom! Get out here!" Offstage we hear, "I'm not coming out until you call me by my name! And it's not Tom!" The hostess sighs, and Mrs. Riddle looks slightly distressed.

"Now Tommy, be a good boy and come out."

"Don't call me Tommy either! God damn you people!" At this the hostess looks shocked and replies, "Why would the gods damn us? We're not the ones who go around killing people and scarring their pants off! We let people KEEP THEIR PANTS!" No one says anything for a moment, then Tom cuts in.

"Wait, what?"

"Oh never mind, look just come out!"

"Not until you say my name!" The hostess rubs her temples, sighs, and gives up, "Fine then… Come out Voldemort…"

"_Lord_ Voldemort," He corrects. Her head snaps up and she casts an un-intimidating glare at the curtain.

"What! No! I'm not calling you 'lord'!" Now Mrs. Riddle starts to loose her patience, but she tries to calmly say, "Oh for the love of-! Just say it and make him happy!" Getting a smart-ass idea, the hostess agrees.

"Okay then… get out here Lord Volde'gets-his-way-cuz-he's-a-mama's-boy'mort."

"I'm not a mama's boy! I'm a grown-up!"

"Then why are you so spoiled to demand to be called one thing as opposed to your real name?"

"Because I changed my name and I demand people respect that!"

"Then all that aside, what about your little obsession with being the one to kill Harry, huh? Ya spoiled monkey-munch!"

"How does that make me spoiled!" (or a monkey-munch for that matter… (o.o))

"Because, your henchmen have plenty of times when they could kill him, and he's apparently a threat to you. If you weren't spoiled then you'd let your better judgment just have him be killed. By insisting that YOU kill him you make Harry seem like a bigger deal than he really is which will insinuate a feeling of superiority among your insubordinates! That's a bad thing for evil leaders! They get put in situations where they could kill him so easily and YOU want to be the one to do it, but you haven't yet! You're setting yourself up for disaster, man! Enter enlightenment or take a bus!" Mrs. Riddle stares at her, her mouth slightly ajar.

"Do you even listen to yourself? At first you made sense, then you just lost it…"

"Um, I do that a lot… Sorry…" Tom took what she said into consideration.

"If any of my subordinates feel like their better than me I'll just kill them. I can read minds you know."

"It's the principle of the thing! But this has gone too off topic, could you just come out here so we can all know you inner-most thoughts and broadcast it to everyone regardless of how much of a touchy subject this must be?"

"Sure, but you still have to say it." As fun as wasting time is, the zombies in her head told her to get things going or else. Or else was never something good.

"Okay, okay… Lord Voldemort, come out here and take a seat…" Tom almost, in some demented way, complies happily (it's demented cuz he can't be happy). He steps out from behind the curtain, and something backstage makes a thunder-clap. His robes do that dramatic whoosh thing and he makes his way slowly and deliberately to his seat. The hostess coughs, but the cough sounds a lot like 'drama-queen'. Luckily Tom doesn't notice.

"So, Tom-"

"Voldemort," he corrects.

"Um, Voldemort… How would you explain you demented little mind?"

"I wouldn't explain it. My mind is not little, and I hate you all." He attempted to settle himself into a more comfortable position, but that proved impossible.

"Couldn't you have gotten better chairs? These ones stink!"

"Hey! They do NOT smell bad, they're just uberly uncomfortable…"

At that moment a buzzer goes off. The hostess looks around, perplexed for a moment.

"I think that's all the time we have for now, but if you want to find out what makes Tommy tick, then review you lazy people! You just have to click the button, type down a few things, and if you're at all computer savvy it shouldn't take more than a minute. If you're smart and type in proper English I'll even understand what it is you're telling me sucks in this fic! Huzza for that! But by now you've stopped reading most likely, so fine! Go on and read other fics and refuse to say two words about them! See is I care!" One zombie reminds her that she does care, so the hostess quiets down and heads home to plot world domination. Leaving Mrs. Riddle and Tom chained to their chairs until she comes back or the rats get them.


End file.
